From Vicious Goofeballs to Guitar Bastards
by qualls1
Summary: The Skwigelf household was used to getting grown men on their doorstep, not fifteen year old Norwegian runaways. And when his mom takes in this stray, it sparks a deep jealousy and rivalry in her son. His futile attempts to not get attached to Toki only start a bond that even hours of guitar playing can't fix. And to his horror, he discovers it's not the brotherly kind of bond. . .


I don't own Metalocalypse or any of its characters!

The rating may go up in later chapters.

Cover photo by Halobender on Deviantart

The way I have this story set up is Skwisgaar has known Toki since they were teens. He and Toki were still friends when Nathan, Pickles, Magnus, and Murderface discovered Skwisgaar. And when Magnus was kicked out of Dethklok, Skwisgaar suggested Toki as rhythm guitarist just as a favor or something. Of course, throughout the whole series, Skwisgaar caps on how they don't need Toki and all this shiz. I like to think he's just bullying Toki because Magnus did that to him. And he doesn't really know any different.

So anyways, please enjoy :)

**oOo**

It was two in the morning. He knew because he had yet to go to sleep. The clock beside his bed confirmed the time, but it still seemed all too unrealistic that someone would be knocking on the Skwigelf front door at this hour.

'_Don't put anything past mom.' _he told himself lazily, relaxing back into his bed. The knock came again, five minutes later. He became slightly irritated. He liked peace and quiet when he was playing his guitar and this loud interruption was becoming somewhat of a problem.

His mom came into his room then, her hair pushed up in the back after a long night of 'work' and her lipstick askew around her mouth. "Is that a friend of yours at the door, Skwisgaar?" She half-hissed. "You know I said you weren't allowed to have friends stay the night-,"

"What? No, it's not." He said defensively. He didn't like his mom yelling at him. She was hardly what he would call a worthy parent, therefore she did not earn that respect from him. She was like an older sister that slept with townspeople under their parents noses, but the 'parents' were actually the men's wives.

"Then who the hell is it?" she asked, calmer now as she smoothened her hair out in a flustered manner. She felt of her lipstick, noticed the condition it was in, and quickly whipped it on the inside of her lacey lingerie. The blonde sixteen year old sat up on his twin-sized bed, pushing aside the Led Zeppelin sheets.

"Like I know." He grunted, stepping past her without really caring if he stepped on her foot or elbowed her by accident. She followed him down the hallway, then down the stairs, into their small living room. It still smelled like sex, but he had gotten so used to it that he labeled it as 'home'.

His mom was reaching for the door handle when he stopped her. "Wait," he said shortly. He was only a sixteen year old boy, but he was the man on of the house. Well, when it was convenient for him. There was no gun in their household. His mother found the weapons to be unattractive and unappealing unless there was a man holding it.

The only weapon he could thing to grab was his guitar, upstairs. "Wait here." He instructed. On his way up the stairs, he wondered if there really was a dangerous person outside their front door. If he ruined his guitar trying to protect his mom, he'd be royally pissed about it later.

Because it wasn't just any guitar. It was _the _guitar.

His mom was checking out the windows when he came back down the steps. "I can't see a damn thing!" She said, looking tired and concerned and slightly scared. He pushed her behind him carefully, feeling equally irritated and tired.

Someone knocked again, which made his mom gasp dramatically. "Who is it?" Skwisgaar called. He was speaking his native tongue, and wondered faintly if the visitor was American. It wouldn't be the first time is mom had reeled in foreigners.

"Oh no, what if it's Mrs. Anckarström? I'll have to go upstairs and wake up Mr. Anckarström then they'll be a huge fight-,"

Skwisgaar yanked the door open, ready to swing his guitar around and take a bitch if he needed to. But it wasn't Mrs. Anckarström and it wasn't some serial killer. It was a kid- well, a boy. He looked about Skwisgaar's age with jaw-length brown hair. He was bleeding from both knees and looked like he had some serious frost bite on his fingers. Big blue eyes stared at him with terror, afraid that Skwis was going to hit him with the guitar.

His mom quickly pushed her son aside, making this 'aw' noise that came with finding a wounded basket of mewing cats at your front door. "Skwisgaar look, it's just a little boy! Well I wouldn't say little…" She corrected herself quickly, helping the brunette to his feet. "What's your name?" She asked the (at least) fifteen year old boy. He looked at her with a furrowed brow before answer her in…

Norwegian, maybe?

"I'm sorry, what?" As if the boy was a five year old who pissed himself, his mom was speaking so softly, like she was trying not to frighten him. "Do you speak-,"

He interrupted her, his jaw opening, then closing, as he tried to identify what language it was. It didn't take him long, as if he'd been taught since he was little to identify languages.

"Toki . . ." He said in this annoyingly high-pitched voice. "Toki Wartooth."

Do to his deep accent and the fact that he had obviously missed puberty, he seemed incredibly fragile and weak and, to Skwisgaar, pathetic.

"Where are your parents?" His mother was slowly beginning to sound overly interested. Would she really do a minor? Skwisgaar, again, didn't put it past her.

"Norway . . ." Toki said, being lead to the small couch by the blonde woman. "I run . . . away far . . . from mine home."

Since he seemed to be having troubles speaking Swedish, she asked him if he spoke English. Most everyone spoke it, considering foreigners from America would stop by houses, asking for directions or wanting to know if the Skwisgelf residence was a tourist attraction. Skwisgaar often grimaced at the fact that his home _was _a tourist attraction . . . '_Come see the Lovely Miss Sweden! And do more than just see. . .'_

"Yes." Toki said, his English way better than his Swedish. "I ams a runaways. From homes."

Skwisgaar, bored of the situation and slightly irked that he had been willing to bash his guitar over this kid's head, plopped down on the love seat. It was regularly cleaned, but he always felt queasy when sitting in it. It wasn't called 'the love seat' for nothing, after all.

He and his mother both spoke English, but only to Americans. Speaking English to this kid was going to get old, if he planned on staying the night. Thankfully, Skwisgaar smirked, he'd be back on the streets by tomorrow morning-

"Oh yous poor babies!" His mom cried softly, pressing Toki's face into her blossoming chest in this all-too-friendly hug. "You ams stayings here until we cans finds out how to handles this."

"You ams-," Toki struggled to speak through the plump breasts in his face. "-not havings to do that!"

"Yea!" Skwisgaar shouted in his half-assed English. "He cans gets out of here tomorrows! He can finds another homes!"

The women in town were gossipers. Every time the young Swede walked past a shop or went into a diner, he was always greeted with whispers that were rather loud. They would 'secretly' scold his mother for keeping him. Saying how she can barely take care of herself, let alone a child. Why did she keep him anyway? Why not all the other kids she mothered and gave away? Raising a young boy in a whore house was hardly good parenting.

What would they think of his mother if she took in a stray?

"Skwisgaar!" His mother scolded, stroking Toki's hair. "I've taughts you betters than that!"

The blond haired boy muttered lowly under his breath, "No, actually, you haven't." in Swedish.

His mom raised Toki up by the shoulders and stood him in front of her. After telling him her name and telling him he was welcome to stay, she looked him up and down, but not like she did the men in her bedroom. "You ams all beat ups!" She murmured.

It was true, the Norwegian was covered in bruises, his knees scraped and bleeding. His cheeks looked swollen too, like he'd been punched or slapped. His nose had smeared blood trailing from the right nostril, trailing down his lips.

He didn't say anything, probably because he didn't want to, maybe because in his mind such things didn't need an explanation.

"Skwisgaar, take him upstairs and help him get cleaned off." Serveta suggested strictly as footsteps could be heard from upstairs. Someone called in a gruff, angry tone, "Woman, where did you go?"

As his mom rushed up the stairs, whispering her apologies, her son gritted his teeth together and watched her go. He found himself strumming furiously at his guitar. He was slightly stunned at how fast his fingers moved. He stopped hastily and checked to see if they were bleeding. They were unscathed, so he ignored them.

He was getting really good at this whole guitar thing.

Maybe even the best in town…

Snapping out of it, he turned to Toki. Anger flared again. He had no idea why his mother had shown more affection to this stray than she had to him in years. The only explanation he could come up with was that his mom wanted to get a little too close to a minor.

Infuriated and ever so slightly jealous, he yanked the boy towards the stairs by his bruised arm and lead him to the bathroom. Giggling noises could be heard from his mother's bedroom, but he turned a blind eye, and pretended that Toki couldn't hear them.

The Norwegian that trailed behind him was thrown on the bathtub side, then told to stay put while the blonde found some rags.

Toki did as he was told, not moving an inch while Skwisgaar rummaged through the drawers. The swede wondered if the boy was even breathing when he turned back around, holding a torn little hand-rag. He spoke in Swedish, even though his mother told him not to. "Where are you hurt?" He asked bluntly, looking down on the brunette.

Ice blue eyes narrowed as he tried hastily to pull apart the sentence and translate. He ended up defying Skwisgaar's Swedish and said in his much better English, "Just ons my knees and my face."

Skwis flipped his shoulder length blonde hair out of his face, pissed that Toki was going to make him speak English. "Whats abouts that face of yours?" He grunted, taking the rag and slapping it against Toki's swollen cheek. The boy winced as the wet rag connected to the swore skin, making a rather unsettling slapping sound. He had to give it a pause before glaring up at Skwisgaar.

"That ams hurtings Skwisgaar." It was weird to hear his name with a Norwegian accent. He scowled and then pinched the boys nose childishly, aiming for where the blood trailed. After a cry of pain, Toki had a handful of Skwisgaar's hair, yanking him down so he could smash their foreheads together. They then both ended up yelping in pain. Toki fell backwards into the empty tub while Skwisgaar stumbled back into the sink.

After the dizziness wore off, the blonde threw the rag at Toki's head, making a funny 'smack' noise. He picked up his discarded guitar and began towards the door. "Cleans yourself ups. You ams old enoughs; I don't thinks you ams a toddler, ya?" He slammed the bathroom door on Toki, and began to walk away. He paused and turned around.

There was a chair in the hallway, and the bathroom door opened into said hallway. He smiled wickedly, backtracking. After checking over his shoulder to make sure his mother was preoccupied, then listening closely to make sure Toki was busy cleaning up, he took the chair and jammed it under the door knob.

The sound was enough to alert the Norwegian that something was wrong. He went to open the door, but it was wedged shut. "Skwisgaar!" He hissed through the wood. "What ams you doings?"

He received no reply, only the faint noises of a guitar as his lodger walked off.

"Lets me out of here!" Toki cried, stomping a foot childishly. He eventually sank back onto the floor, tears welling in his icy eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have run away. If this is how he was to be treated the next who-knows-how-many days…

No, mother and father are much worse than this boy. This Swedish devil child was nothing compared to the disappointment in his parents eyes. He stood then and dabbed at the tears in his eyes with it. Once they were erased, he began to clean the blood out of his nose and out of the cuts on his legs. He cheek was less fixable, but hopefully it wouldn't be too awfully noticeable.

After everything was dealt with, he went to the drawer that Skwisgaar had been digging in and found a towel. Laying down in the tub, he curled into a ball and used the towel for a blanket. Whatever. He was fine. He could live through this. He'd made it this far, after all…

"Skwisgaar is ams dick…" he muttered.

Meanwhile, a few rooms across from the bathroom, Skwisgaar laid down on his bed and laughed to himself quietly. He could deal with the twerp for a week or so, if this was how it was going to go. Toki had gone silent, so Skwis figured that he had finally given up.

After another hour or so of playing, he could see the sun rising up through his window. "Time to get some sleep." He murmured, setting the guitar aside. Thanks to it, he'd officially become nocturnal.

. . . however, he didn't get to sleep as long as he would have liked to. His mother had awoken earlier than him, and was now bursting through the door of his room, Toki behind her and lingering in the doorway.

His blanket was ripped off of him, leaving him in his boxers with this startled and confused gaze on. Serveta had completely forgotten about speaking English, for she started screaming at him in her first language, "You locked him in the bathroom? I know I haven't had time to teach you many manners young man, but you should know better! What were you thinking? He's a guest, Skwisgaar! He's hurt! He's emotionally unstable! Can you even imagine how rude it was to do that to him? What does he think of us now, hm?"

In his hazy state, he managed to sit up in his bed and appear fully awake. He screamed right back at her, "He attacked me last night! We shouldn't even have him here! He's a stray-,"

Toki then spoke up in Norwegian. And surprisingly to Serveta and Skwisgaar, it was easier to pick apart what he was saying than they thought it would be.

"Maybe I should just leave. I don't mean to cause all this trouble. I'll go."

Skwisgaar nodded and agreed, but his 'ya' was cut off by his mother's swift move across the room. She got down on her knees and took Toki by his arms, pulling him into a hug. Now, if last night's babying hadn't made the young Swede jealous, this sure as hell did. As his mother babbled on her apologies to Toki, saying "Don't listen to him! I'm so sorry for what happened last night. It'll never happen again. Of course you can stay, of course.", He snatched up his guitar and shoved past them, going down to the living room. His mother yelled his name angrily, but he didn't turn around.

The damn homeless boy got more love than he did.

Crashing on the living room couch, he began to play as many songs he could think up. After he'd done that, he made symphony off all the choruses combined. After that, he played some of them backwards. He had calmed down quite a bit after all of that, but he certainly wasn't prepared for what his mother had to say.

She too had calmed down and (apparently without asking he son) set Toki up a mattress in Skwisgaar's bedroom floor. After all of that was done, she sat next to Skwisgaar and placed a hand on one of his knees. "Go get dressed and take Toki into town. Show him around. You know . . . get to know him better."

He was at first appalled. But after his mom gave him a begging gaze, he groaned and fell silent. At last, he muttered a, "Do I have to speak English too?"

Delighted, Serveta lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you for trying." She said. He basked in the rareness of a hug, feeling awkward. It was very seldom that his mother hugged him. It either messed up her dress or her hair or her makeup if she hugged him. Even in the early morning hours when she looked like she had been through pure hell that night, she didn't hug him.

Her claim was '_Got to get ready for today. Can't hug right now' _or on other occasions, _'I just bought this dress Skwisgaar. I've got to keep it fresh and unwrinkled.'_

But every now and again, she was cave and give him a hug. He liked to close his eyes and pretend for a moment that his mom wasn't a slut. That he was a normal kid with a normal, good mom. That his Dad was upstairs and not five naked men with hangovers and wedding rings in their coat pockets.

Yet this never lasted long. She would pull away, pat his head awkwardly, and go back upstairs. He would be reminded that day at school by all the other boys in his class that his mom was a whore. Some of the boys even said they had done her. And he couldn't exactly say they were lying . . . because truthfully he wasn't sure.

It had been a couple years ago that he'd found out about what his mom did while he was at school and what she did when she went out at night. After he had found out, she hadn't bothered to hide it and brought the men to their home.

He hadn't realized he'd been playing while he thought. It was when his pinky finger slipped and almost got cut on a string that he snapped out of his thoughts and checked for cuts.

It startled him quite a bit when Toki sat down on the couch in front of him. He jumped a little when the boy said, "Ams you goings to get dressed? Or ams yous going into towns in your underwears?"

**oOo**

Thanks for reading the first chapter~

I'm pretty sure that I misspelled Skwisgaar's mom's name… xD My bad.


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